


sunflower

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Getting Together, Pining, Plants, Short & Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 13:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11209515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: “The weather is sulking,” Luna says, and holds out a hand absently. Ginny takes it, her heart beating out a fierce rhythm against her ribs, thudding against bone, and Luna squeezes her fingers gently. “Let’s go inside.”Ginny tips her head up against the light spray of fine mist pouring from the sky and thinks about how she’d rather be here than anywhere else. And then she looks to the side and catches a glimpse of fine blonde hair and bright eyes and rethinks her opinion just a little. If Luna is leaving, then Ginny wants to leave with her.





	sunflower

**Author's Note:**

> this is for one of my favourite humans, @snowflakers, who honestly deserves the world. it was their birthday and this is a little late because SOMEONE forgot to mention it, but I hope it's worth the wait! And I hope you all enjoy it :)

Ginny is a lot of things. She’s dirt under fingernails and the feeling of a fierce wind in your hair and the pop of bright bubble-gum. She is dappled sunlight through summer-greened leaves and the taste of a bonfire on the tip of your tongue, that tingling, smoky warmth. She likes books – although not as much as Hermione – but she prefers flying, and she will never write in a diary again. She’s an outdoors sort of person, and she’s always liked the feeling of sunlight on her face, the heat against her freckled skin, warming her to the bone.

There’s no sunlight today, but Ginny still loves where she is, perched near a tree at the edge of the lake, listening to the waves lap lightly against the steep bank. The tips of her ratty trainers dig into the wet ground, tracing shapes in the earth like the worms do. Next to her, a set of pale, bare toes wiggle freely.

“The weather is sulking,” Luna says, and holds out a hand absently. Ginny takes it, her heart beating out a fierce rhythm against her ribs, thudding against bone, and Luna squeezes her fingers gently. “Let’s go inside.”

Ginny tips her head up against the light spray of fine mist pouring from the sky and thinks about how she’d rather be here than anywhere else. And then she looks to the side and catches a glimpse of fine blonde hair and bright eyes and rethinks her opinion just a little. If Luna is leaving, then Ginny wants to leave with her.

They don’t go to the castle. Luna takes a little detour past the forest and they end up near the Greenhouse, but all Ginny can focus on is the feel of slender fingers entwined with her own. Ginny’s hands are callused from working on her broomstick, hardened with little scars at the base of her knuckles, but smooth everywhere else from the special, flowery potion her mum makes for her. Luna’s hands are soft and smooth all over, often spotted with ink and a scattering of words that she likes the shape and sound of.

“Muggles think that flowers are a type of language,” Luna says, pushing open the door to the Greenhouse and stepping inside. She has this light, airy way of moving that makes her look like she’s floating, her pale blue dress flapping around her like water. It makes Ginny want to gather her up and press kisses to her skin, keep her still. “They think you can send messages with them, say things when you have trouble speaking.”

“Are they right?” Ginny asks.

Luna hums. “They’re not wrong.”

Ginny hikes herself up onto a worktop and watches as Luna busies herself with packets of seeds and little pink trowels, humming under her breath as she works. She kicks her feet against the wood beneath her, laces trailing through the air, and watches a Venemous Tentacula sway in the corner, snapping at flies. The Greenhouse is lazy and warm, the windows left wide open to let in the air.

There are flowers lined up along the window, bright yellow and swaying slightly. Their colour remains her of a simpler time, before the world went completely to hell, dancing at a wedding and watching a girl dance alone and wishing, desperately, that she could join her.

Sunflowers. A few have been picked and set aside, their petals browning at the edges, curling in on themselves. Ginny plucks one up and strokes a petal. Then she holds it out slightly, feeling a little silly, and Luna looks up with a small, vacant smile.

“If you were having trouble speaking, what would this say?”

“Normally sunflowers symbolise luck,” Luna explains. Then she laughs softly, her voice bright and sweet, “If this one could speak, though, I think it would ask for some water.”

She reaches out and takes the sunflower gently, always gentle, like Ginny might spook, when in truth she’s never felt more anchored in a moment than she does now. For all that she can be faraway and distant, Luna is also grounding. She cuts through to the heart of the matter, the stuff that’s significant, and she doesn’t let you skirt around it, even if the truth if uncomfortable.

A breeze sweeps through the greenhouse, sets the wind chimes tinkling lightly; it sounds like laughter on a seashore, likes waves and pink shells and ice cream running down a thin wrist. A wisp of blonde hair uncurls from Luna’s bun and wafts across her forehead, over her eyes. Luna blows out a breath, but the lock of hair remains stubbornly unmoved. Ginny’s hand drifts up, unbidden, and tucks it gently behind her ear, one dangling earring scraping against her palm, and the world grows still around them.

“Luna,” Ginny says quietly. She takes her hand back slightly and rests it gently on Luna’s cheek, sliding her thumb back and forth. She can feel her pulse skyrocket with nerves, and then – and then Luna leans into the touch, like she wants Ginny there. Like she’s always wanted Ginny there.

 _She’s so pretty._ Fairly radiant, the way that Fleur is, only warmer. Her eyes are wide and dewy and her hair smells sweet, long and flowing free with little tangles here and there, and her skin is so smooth and soft under Ginny’s thumb. She’s just pretty, and her kindness seems to shine out of her face, giving her an unearthly sort of glow.

Ginny has always made herself brave. That’s what bravery is, she’s told herself, having courage when you feel most afraid, making yourself do the things that need to be done when you’d rather be doing anything else. But this is something she wants, not something she needs, and she also dearly doesn’t want to mess this up, so she lets her hand fall away.

“Better get it some water, then,” Ginny says, with more cheer than she feels. “You’d think there’d be a watering can around here somewhere, and a vase, maybe? Why’s Sprout leaving dying flowers lying around anyway? Aha!”

She digs around under the counter, hiding her face behind her hair, and pulls out a watering can. She pulls out her wand and casts _Aguamenti_ , watches a thin stream of water pour into the can, which has a pattern of daisies painted up the spout.

When she turns around, Luna is watching her thoughtfully.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

Ginny’s heart stops, and she splutters, almost dropping the watering can. She clenches her fingers tightly around the handle instead and steps a little closer.

“I don’t…”

“You don’t want to kiss me?” Luna frowns. “You looked like you wanted to. Or is this another one of those things that I’ve misinterpreted? I do that sometimes.”

Ginny’s mouth quirks fondly. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“So I have?”

Ginny’s eyes widen and she shakes her head, water sloshing over the edge of the watering can as she gestures erratically.

“Or is this one of those moments where you stopped because you weren’t sure whether I wanted you to kiss me?” Luna asks, a little quieter as she obviously ponders this. And then she adds, matter-of-factly, as though she’s not breaking Ginny into tiny, blissful pieces, “Because I do. I quite like you, Ginny.”

Ginny sucks in a breath, and thinks about how Luna is the brave one here. There’s so much bravery in the cold, hard truth, but there’s nothing cold about this. Ginny feels warm all over, her cheeks blushing bright red, and she carefully, purposefully, puts the watering can down on the counter. Luna watches her for a moment and then, equally as purposefully, she puts the sunflower down beside it.

Ginny cups Luna’s cheek and steps close, close enough to count freckles and eyelashes and feel breath against her face. She steps close, and she keeps stepping until they’re as close as they can be, and then she kisses Luna. She tries to keep it sweet and soft, but her love and fire bleeds into the kiss and turns it fierce. _Brave_. As strong and warm as sunflowers.

They’re both breathing hard by the time they part, and Ginny presses their foreheads together, sighs out in relief and bliss. Luna’s mouth crinkles into a smile, and she darts forward to press a kiss to Ginny’s nose.

Ginny clears her throat, tries for a smirk. “So, you quite like me, huh?”

“I should hope so,” Luna says seriously. “I did just kiss you, you know.”

Ginny leans in, kisses her again, soft and chaste.

“Good. Because I quite like you too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> And thank you to @mxlfoydraco for helping me through my nerves about writing them together, this was my first time with these characters and I really like how it turned out, so thank you!
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed it! Thank you so much! Please leave a comment/kudos and let me know what you thought, and I'd love to hear from you @thealmostrhetoricalquestion on tumblr :) 
> 
> Thank you!


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